


Not An Impasse

by elliceluella



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Angst, Cannibalism, Foggy is still precious, Gen, but he takes no shit from criminals, but if you squint reeeeeeeally hard it could be?, not quite murder husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 02:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5075122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliceluella/pseuds/elliceluella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You're already playing judge and jury, Matt. Let me play the executioner.” Foggy does everything he can to keep the tiny quirk at the edge of his lips from growing.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not An Impasse

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the kinkmeme [ prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/5006.html?thread=10390158#cmt10390158): "Matt smells cooked human flesh on Foggy's breath."

Foggy Nelson does not have a single mean bone in his body, and he knows this. He’s always made sure to embody the characteristics that came with being nice, even when he was just a kid helping out at Uncle Fred’s butcher shop.

Customers would praise him for being a quick learner, when Uncle Fred asked him to show them his butchery skills. Foggy loved how it felt when his knife cut through raw meat and bone, when it sliced through the meat to carve out fillets.

 The smell never got to him- he’s always kind of liked it, actually. It wasn’t long before Foggy paired his carving skills with his passion for culinary arts. He always thought he’d end up being a butcher like his uncle; he’d even done some research on classes he could take after high school and his mother couldn’t have been more pleased.

 Sometimes Foggy still likes to think that he is a butcher, albeit an unconventional one. He’s never regretted the actions and choices that got him to where he is though, because life has a way of working things out.

 ===

Foggy relishes the way the his drink leaves a warm trail down his throat, then hums absentmindedly to himself as he thinks about the great slab of meat waiting for him at home.

“You got plans after this?” Matt asks with a smirk.

“You bet. There’s going to be a lot of banging, kneading, and rubbing. In my kitchen.” Foggy drawls.

“Save some leftovers for me?” Matt asks, hopefully.

Karen snorts. “Easy, boy.” She pushes the bowl of nuts from the bar towards him.

Matt wrinkles his nose. “I wouldn’t touch that even if you paid me to.”

Foggy chuckles. “Sorry, buddy. I think I’ll be going to town on this one tonight. Besides, I don’t think it’ll suit your taste. I’ll make you something else next week?”

Matt beams. “What would I ever do without you?”

“That is a question I ask myself every day, pal” Foggy grins.

Karen gets up from her barstool and sways slightly before gripping the counter. “Ugh. I think I’m gonna need to purge all this lighter fluid soon. You guys planning on staying?”

“I think I’ve had enough too,” Matt says, still clinging onto Foggy’s arm.

“Me three,” Foggy gets up, then turns around. ‘Night, Josie!” he yells. The grunt that comes from the other end of the bar makes the three of them giggle.

“I hope you’re not planning on parkouring across any rooftops tonight,” Karen says after they leave Josie’s.

Foggy nods. “I second that.”

“Hey, I may look the part, but I definitely don’t feel all that tipsy,” Matt protests weakly.

Foggy snorts. “Your arm is definitely acting the part, judging from the way it’s clinging onto me like an extra limb.” Matt proceeds to engulf Foggy in a bear hug.

Karen laughs. “Three years on and this never gets old.” Matt smiles.

“Damn straight! We might all own our own homes and live in fancy palaces now,” Foggy gives a pointed look at Matt, who gives a “What? It’s the same size, just a different location!” which Foggy promptly ignores, and continues with a finger in the air, “but! the Avocados at Law will never change!”

===

Foggy sighs in contentment as he watches the fat render and listens to the sizzle in his skillet, taking in the symphony in his kitchen and his favorite Boston album as it plays in the background. He smiles, because there isn’t going to be a better way to cap off a good week.

He is almost drooling by the time he drizzles the Cumberland sauce over the piece of meat.

“Mmm,” Foggy leans back in his chair, closes his eyes and let’s his taste buds dance. Holy shit, this is really, really good. He chews slowly and takes in the gorgeous texture of the meat, the tartness of the sauce and the way it complements the herb rub perfectly. He takes a sip of red wine and smiles. This is heaven.

And then he hears it. The knock on his door. Shit. There’s only one person who would pop by unannounced at such an hour. Foggy gulps down the rest of his wine before getting up. After all that seasoning and sauce, human meat should smell just like any other meat, right? He opens the door.

If Matt’s expression was anything to go by though, Foggy would say he couldn’t be more wrong. His heart starts going off like a jackhammer.

“H-hey, what’re you doing so late? Need something?” Foggy takes a step back for Matt to enter. Matt doesn’t say a word, just walks in and sniffs the air, subtly. He looks like he’s going to retch, but more than that, he looks afraid. Foggy has never seen Matt this scared before, and for someone who’s been dubbed the man without fear, that’s saying a lot.

“Foggy, where did you ge-” Matt pauses, struggles with his words before uttering a single, shaky “Why?” Beads of sweat cover the side of his face, and he has to press a hand against the wall to steady himself.

Foggy runs to the kitchen, grabs an empty bucket and passes it to Matt, who promptly proceeds to hurl into it. OK, so Foggy definitely did not foresee this happening. He opens all the windows in his house to let the aroma- or stench, according to Matt anyway, out.

Foggy hands Matt a glass of water. “This...It isn’t what it seems. Not all of it, anyway,” he says, feebly, as he looks over at his friend.

Matt gulps down the water. “You can’t tell me that isn’t human meat I smell on your breath and all over your house.”

Foggy says nothing, because Matt’s right, he can’t. “How did you know?” He asks quietly. His heart is beating a mile a minute, and his mind is racing to try and come up with a coherent explanation that won’t have Matt screaming and running out of his house.

“After I cauterized Vladimir and after that fight with Nobu, that’s not a smell I’m going to forget. Ever.” Matt looks upset. No, scratch that. Matt looks _very_ upset, and it’s starting to freak Foggy out.

“Oh,” because that’s the only word that Foggy manages to utter.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Matt says, an edge in his voice. Damn it. Foggy is all too familiar with Matt’s contempt for avoiding questions. He’s seen it in court far too many times to count. Alright then, here goes. Foggy takes a breath, then exhales.

“I got the meat myself. As for why...let’s just say my motives are somewhat similar to why Daredevil does what he does. The fact that it happens to suit my palate is just a bonus.”

The color drains from Matt’s face. “You’re saying that you- you killed someone, and you... _enjoy_ making a meal out of it?” His voice breaks at the end.

A part of Foggy feels like this isn’t real. He isn’t here, and he’s not having this conversation with Matt. Call him naive, but even after stumbling across Matt’s secret, after all the pain that withholding the truth caused, he never thought this day would come. He couldn’t afford it.

Foggy always made sure to be careful, because as kind and wonderful as Matt was, he knew Matt wouldn’t and couldn’t accept this. It went against what he stood for and who he was as a person.

Foggy walks over to the kitchen and puts his hand on the table to ground himself. Matt doesn’t even come near the kitchen and Foggy can’t blame him. He looks at his plate while he wills an explanation out of his mouth.

“He deserved everything that happened. I approached him under the pretense of offering him some legal help and got him back here. I made it very quick, because I don’t believe in torture. He didn’t have a family or anyone depending on him. And no, I don’t eat everything. Or most of it, actually. That’s what the meat grinder and industrial-grade oven’s for,” He jerks a thumb towards the appliances. “Disposal.”

Matt blanches and looks completely overwhelmed from everything he’s hearing. Foggy wants to die.

Foggy leaves the table and tries to move towards Matt, who flinches and takes a step back when he realizes what Foggy is doing. The reflex is almost imperceptible, but it’s Matt, so Foggy gets the message loud and clear. He’s pretty sure this is how it feels to have someone scoop his heart out and throw it in the grinder. Matt shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.

That sinking feeling that’s been brewing in the pit of his stomach ever since Matt walked through his door is turning into cold resignation.

“How long?”

Foggy takes a moment before he answers. “A while. Since after high school.”

Matt runs a hand through his hair, his expression twisting into something between a laugh and a cry. Something deep inside Foggy breaks a little more.

“How many people have you...killed?” Clearly the word “eaten” isn't going to make it past his throat anytime soon.

Foggy shrugs. “I’ve never made a habit out of keeping count, honestly. A couple a year at first, probably? But definitely more after the firm started doing better. Probably one every couple months, now that I’ve got my own place and much more efficient methods of disposal.”

Matt flinches again. Foggy has to fight his instinct to wrap his best friend in a blanket and give him something warm to drink. He sighs and rubs his face with both hands.

“I’m not sorry for what I am, or what I do. I’m only sorry that you had to find out this way. I’m sorry that I was careless, that I forgot how differently your senses work for you, that you never forget a scent. I’m sorry if you think I’m a monster, but this isn’t something I can change, nor am I willing to.” Foggy laughs bitterly before he continues. “I guess that’s something we have in common after all, this “devil” inside us that we don’t want to stop.”

Matt shakes his head still, but takes a step forward. “This- this is madness, Foggy! You can’t do that, it’s wrong, and you know it. Please, you have to stop. Please, Foggy,” Matt pleads, his eyes wet with frustrated and frightened tears that threaten to spill over any time. Foggy feels bad for the disappointment and who knows what else he’s caused his best friend, but he doesn’t back down.

“Why should I, Matt? Do you know who’s on my plate? This jerk,” Foggy indicates to his plate, “did horrible things to his wife every night. He caused the death of his stepdaughter, but got off scot free because of a, what was it? Right. Because of a “technical error”, the judge ruled. Do you think that’s fair, Matt? Do you think justice has been served?” Foggy’s heart is racing, but there’s no turning back now. He carries on.

“I know I’ll never be able to do what you do, prowling the streets night after night making sure this city is safe, but this is something I can do. I can make sure animals like this don’t get a second chance to poison this city. _Our_ city.” His chest is heaving, but it feels good to let it out: his fury at the man who is now nothing but a late night snack, his frustration at the limitations of the law, and his conviction behind his actions.

“Second chances go both ways. What about those who’ve decided to change for the better, huh? How do you reconcile what you do with the possibility that you’ve deprived them of their chance to make something of themselves?” Matt counters, the tears that streak down his cheeks reflecting the light from Foggy’s kitchen.

Foggy’s heart breaks at the sight. He’s made his best friend cry again. He thought he’d never get over that night at Matt’s apartment, when he found out Matt had been lying to him throughout the entirety of their friendship, but this time though, this feels far, _far_ worse. This feels unforgivable. There’s an air of finality to their relationship this time, and it’d be a miracle if he doesn’t lose Matt for good tonight.

“You’ve just said it. It’s only a possibility that criminals could change their ways. There’s also a possibility they’d be back on the streets doing what they’ve always done. And you’re just one person, Matt. You can only be in one place at a time. For every crime you stop, there’s god knows how many repeat offenders out there doing worse. What you’re doing is great, I’m not diminishing that.” Foggy takes a second to catch his breath, surprised that his voice hasn’t faltered. He rushes on before he can’t speak anymore, because he knows it’s coming.

“I’m just saying that I can’t live with myself, knowing that I’m sitting on my ass doing nothing when there’s a way I could be making sure some douche bag never hurts another person again. I’m sorry, Matt. You might be willing to take that risk, but I’m not.” Foggy’s shoulders slump, because he’s said his piece. It isn’t enough to convince Matt and he knows it. He looks down at his food, but with disdain this time. He’s lost his appetite.

Foggy picks up his plate and empties it wordlessly into the trash, then sits back down at table and buries his head in his hands. He lets the tears come, just sobs and sobs and doesn’t stop, because this is it. There’s no way Matt would ever remain friends with a someone like him. The fear of never seeing his best friend again hurts so much; it doesn’t even occur to him that Matt could turn him in.

To Matt’s credit, he does neither. He paces around the living room perplexed, frustrated and terrified, his hands repeatedly curling into fists, but he doesn’t call the cops and he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t do what Foggy fears the most, what Foggy did to him all those nights ago. Matt doesn’t leave. Eventually he pulls up the other chair at the table and sits.

Matt opens his mouth several times only to close it, because really, what do you say to someone- OK no, Foggy isn’t just anyone- Foggy is his _best friend_ ; but what do you say to your best friend whom you’ve known for years, who’s stuck with you through the lies and the hurt, and who, as it turns out, is also a cannibal? Exactly. So Matt just sits and squirms and waits for something, anything, to happen.

Somewhere through the tears and the sobbing Foggy becomes aware that not only is Matt still here, he’s actually seated opposite him.

He wipes his nose on his sleeve and his eyes with the back of his hand. His body is wracked with sobs and he knows he probably sounds just as ridiculous as he looks.

“Y-you’re st-ill here,” Foggy’s never had to put so much effort into speaking three words before.

His statement sounds more like a hesitant question, like he can’t believe he’s not receiving the same treatment he gave Matt those years ago, like he wants to ask his best friend to stay, but doesn’t dare to.

Yet he allows himself to hang on to a sliver of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Matt is still willing to be his friend. He looks up at Matt, who is wearing an expression that Foggy can only describe as a mixture of discomfort and uncertainty.

“Let’s-let’s start from the beginning. How did y- this start, Foggy?”

Foggy’s breathing is still uneven, punctured with sharp, shaky breaths, but he forces himself to speak. He owes Matt this much, at least.

“I wanted to be independent after graduating high school. Managed to rent a dingy little apartment that had a stove. It wasn’t a lot, but I cooked as much as I could. One day I had some leftovers that I was going to give to mom, but I took a shortcut and saw this homeless guy. I offered it to him since he looked like he really needed it, and he just snapped.” Foggy can’t believe he’s saying all this out loud.

“He grabbed a cleaver and came after me. We struggled for awhile and he fell on something hard, I can’t remember. I guess he must have broken his left arm during the struggle, because it was twisted at a weird angle. I had some sort of meltdown after that. I don’t know why, but I grabbed the cleaver, hacked off a part of his arm and took it back with me. That's how I found out I liked how it tasted...like comfort food.” His breathing is evening out and his voice isn’t quavering anymore.

Matt frowns hard, his lips pressed into a grim line. Foggy knows he’s trying not to get sick again.

“My decision to study law was selfish at first, I felt like I had to protect myself. But after awhile I realized I really wanted to make a difference, using the law to help those that couldn't help themselves. Nelson and Murdock was a genuine dream. It just made me so mad whenever I heard about assholes who got to walk away without so much as a slap on the wrist, and that’s when I realized I could do something about it that the law couldn’t.”

Matt nods, clears his throat. “Um... have you ever given Karen-"

Foggy cuts him off. “Of course not! I'd never trick any of you into cannibalism. I’m not a monster- OK I know you’re going to say that’s debatable. What I’m trying to say is I do have morals, you know.” Foggy isn't all that offended but he lets some indignation seep into his voice for good measure. Matt offers a small smile and raises his hand as an apology.

“How do you do it?”

The question takes Foggy by surprise. “You really want to know?”

A pause. But then, “Yes.” Matt’s voice is quiet.

Foggy gets up to get himself a glass of water. “I study their routine for several weeks before approaching them, usually under the guise of offering legal advice. I even made some fake business cards. Other times I make myself an easy target as bait. I won’t bore you with specifics but suffice to say high doses of barbiturates are my go-to method. They usually don’t put up much of a fight when I stick the needle in their necks because they’re too surprised. You'd be amazed at how effective a murder weapon being nice can be. Sometimes things can get a little tricky though, so I always make sure to have my bat nearby. That trusty thing hasn’t failed me once." Everything he’s saying is probably horrible, but it’s become so rote that he can’t quite keep the nonchalance out of his voice. He glances over at Matt, who’s gripping the edge of the table so tight his knuckles are turning white. Yup, the casual tone definitely wasn't lost on him.

Foggy takes a breath. “Earlier...you mentioned Karen. Um- you should know...”

“No,” Matt balks. “ _No_. No way. When? How?”

“Last year. She found my receipts for the barbiturates. Freaked out and thought I was an addict or peddling them or something. She took it surprisingly well when I explained everything to her. Although, after you factor in her history, it’s pretty easy to see why she’d be more freaked out about me being an addict than about eating people. I think. She agreed that if you ever had to know about my...distinct tastes, it should come from me, that’s why she didn’t say anything.”

Foggy winces when Matt gets up and starts pacing again.

This is going to be a long night.

===

“I didn’t ask to be _this_. But now that I know who I am, what I’m capable of...I’ve embraced it.” It’s clear Foggy’s words have struck a chord with Matt. His shoulders relax slightly, the tension in his frame almost all gone.

They’ve been talking for hours. Every second that Matt’s still here, still talking to him, feels like borrowed time to Foggy.

“Yeah I know the feeling,” Matt says, nursing the beer in his hand. It’s going to be sunrise soon.

“You're already playing judge and jury, Matt. Let me play the executioner.” Foggy does everything he can to keep the tiny quirk at the edge of his lips from growing.

Matt gives a hollow laugh. “Are you aware of how ridiculous that sounds?”

“Look, all I’m saying is, keep doing what you’ve always done. Fight crime, put the guilty behind bars. Let me go after the monsters and murderers that escape through the cracks of our flawed judicial system, the ones that remain proud of their actions and live without a shred of remorse.”

“And how would you know if they’re genuinely looking to turn over a new leaf or not?”

“I uh, I was hoping you’d help with that,” Foggy says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So you want me to be your lie detector.”

“Um- Something like that?” Matt sighs but Foggy presses on. “Matt, I have to do this, but I don’t want to lose you either. I’ve killed petty crooks for less, but I won’t do that anymore. I won’t eat anyone that you’re not OK with turning up on my plate. This is me trying to compromise.” He pushes the lump in his throat down with a glass of water.

The silence between them stretches on, and Foggy feels like he’s scrubbed himself raw. He never thought he’d see the day where they’d be discussing his proclivities.

===

“So I stop criminals and you’ll eat those that don’t stay down,” Matt murmurs, before stifling a yawn. It’s just past 8am. Sunlight is streaming through the windows.

“Something like that. But only those who don’t get what they deserve and then go on to brag about it.” Foggy says.

“This is...a lot to process,” Matt says, after a while.

“I know,” Foggy shifts in his chair then tugs at his collar.

“What is it?” Matt raises his brows.

“Are we OK, Matt?” Foggy asks, so quietly he barely hears his own question.

Matt licks his lips, his nervous tic striking a pang of worry in Foggy.

“Honestly, I don’t know if I can give a concrete answer right now. I feel like everything’s changed and I have to find my footing again. But I’d like to think so, yes.”

Foggy nods. “It’s a start.” He’ll take whatever he can get. “It’d be crazy if three of us had dinner parties someday, huh?” he mutters, more to himself than to Matt.

“So long as they aren’t made of criminals, I’m sure we’ll get there. I mean, you do know how much I enjoy your food.” Matt offers.

Foggy stares at him. “You sure you wouldn’t rather just eat Josie’s bar nuts?”

Matt shudders. Foggy lets himself smile a little.

"Hey, I just realized you haven't told me why you came here tonight."

Matt gives a sheepish look and rubs his neck. "You're really gonna make me say it?"

"Say what?"

"I, uh... I was feeling peckish."


End file.
